Go Gentle into the Night... Maternal Grandmother

Years ago I could not bring myself to write about my grandmother's passing(in 1985). It was very painful and my mum would always ask me whenever I discussed with her, "Why write about it? It is so sad..."

Then I was thinking about how my two uncles permitted themselves to buy some strong painkillers to ease her last days of pain. Should I describe their love and sacrifice in detail?

And there was no photo of the last days with my grandmother too to illustrate my writing. 

 My Ngie Mah was visually disabled by the time she was 74 years old. She soon became frail but continued to be very independent, not wishing to be a burden to any one. She was totally visually disabled by the time she was 80.

It was painful for me to see her groping about in the wooden house by the river side in Nang Chong. But kind Third Uncle made sure that her toilet was always clean and the flushing system in good condition. She was able to do everything by herself. so third Aunt was not in any way burdened.

She never actually had any sickness in her life. But in the last few months of her life she was literary like a wick of a candle, slowly and slowly the light was going out.

But her final pain was in her heart which had been rather strong, from the time she left Minqing in China for Sibu to her last days in Sibu town. Ngie Mah was definitely made of sterner stuff in a small frame of less than 5 foot.

Her body was in pain as her heart was giving out. in the last few days of her life.

My kindly uncle Chang Chung Ching with the help of a local Chinese sinseh suggested the use of some traditional pain killers. We were told to keep it a secret, even from the stern hospital doctor who was a family friend.

The first night after she was given some, and actually she was in the Lau King Howe hospital in the common ward, she slept quite soundly. She was at peace but her mind was very clear and she knew what she was taking. Grandmother was a wise woman who had seen too many things in her life in her own words.

The second day, she asked for some more of the black stuff. But we all knew that she was leaving us as the vital signs were getting weaker and the doctors who came by to check her just mentioned that she was very weakened by her long years of living.

Prayers were said by family members and the pastors came around.

On the third day, the older aunties brought a silver ring, a pair of silver earrings and a new comb. Those were terrible signs for my sisters and I to witness while my mother and youngest aunt were inconsolable. 

However my uncles still gave her a small piece of the black stuff so that she could go gentle in the night. She was not in pain and she was comforted.

We waited for her to breathe her last and it was a good send off. the hospital staff did not shoo us away even though the visiting hours were over. It was a gentle going out of a candle.

the candle had burned to its last strength and the wick was burnt off. Only the fragrance of the candle remains to this day in our mind.

I have forgotten the smell of the black stuff but I can remember my grandmother's sweet scents from the hair oil she used. 

My sister brushed her hair for her for the last time as we sobbed softly at her side in the mortuary. Every surface was cold to the touch.

The warmth of a human body had gone out and we would never have a warm embrace from her. We would never crawl up to her in her wooden bed and snuggle and laugh with her.

She was skin and bones in the last few years and now she was lying there, cold and without life.

Mum and Aunty Yung wiped grandmother's cold white body with new towels as our uncles prepared to clothe her with specially tailored funeral wear, all seven layers of them.